


Am I coming out of left field?

by thepatchmatrix



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Fred Weasley Lives, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Magical Oaths, No beta we die like mne, Percy Weasley-centric, Politics, Secrets, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-20 14:43:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 21,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17024607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepatchmatrix/pseuds/thepatchmatrix
Summary: Percy Weasley sits down to write a series of letters days after Voldemort reveals himself in the Ministry. A knock at his door changes the course of his life, and maybe the course of the war.





	1. A Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this for a while, both as just an idea floating around in my head and finally into something tangible. It's the darkest I've ever gotten, though I tried to keep most things as non-explicit and vague as possible. This is also the longest fic I've finished so far, so, for better or worse, I'm pretty proud of it. 
> 
> No warnings on this chapter, but please heed the tags and check the end notes for chapter specific warnings.
> 
> Please enjoy!

Percy was half way through his last letter, this one to his mother, when a knock sounded at his door.

He glanced up, brow furrowed as he considered ignoring it. This was a task he needed to finish. Seeing Voldemort in all his living glory had proven Percy wrong in so many ways. Everything he’d done in the last year, heck, in the last ten years, had been proven so very _wrong_. And now he needed to apologize.

It was also concerning that someone was here instead of sending a letter ahead of time. Knocking without notice usually meant one of two things. It could be one of his disgruntled colleagues, here to gloat over his failures or commiserate over a shared ignorance. Or, god forbid, it was the minister. The man had been at his door multiple times looking for some ‘nightly companionship’ in face of the recent turmoil. He made Percy’s skin _crawl_.

Forcing his attention back on his letter, Percy dismissed the second and third knock as he continued writing, words flowing faster and faster as he splayed his heart out on parchment for his mother to see. Nothing less than full, unmitigated truth would do.

The fourth knock was less a tap and more a pound. The sudden, loud sound startled Percy, causing him to jerk a hand right into his ink bottle. It spilled directly onto the pile of finished letters.

Watching the destruction spread, Percy heaved a sigh and went to answer.

When Percy finally turned the latch and swung the door open, he found Albus Dumbledore standing on the other side.

Albus Dumbledore was standing at his door. Albus Dumbledore was standing at _Percy Weasley’s_ door. _Albus_ fucking _Dumbledore_ was standing on the doorstep of the disgraced Weasley days after the reveal of the still-living Voldemort to the wizarding world.

Percy closed the door.

He breathed, slow and even. Took a moment to consider his life. Wondered what he’d done in a past life to deserve being so dense when it came to views other than his own. Closed his eyes while considering past decisions.

Percy opened the door.

Albus looked older than ever before. Dark bags sagged under his eyes and every wrinkle ran like a crevasse across his face. His hat was slightly askew, and Percy could see small glass fragments stuck in its brim, presumably never cleaned out after the fight at the ministry just three days ago. In fact, it looked like Albus was in the same clothes he’d had on at the battle. Had he even slept since then? Hell, had Percy?

“What do you want?” Percy asked, his voice quiet and shaking with exhaustion.

“We need to talk,” was Albus’s equally tired reply.

“Why?” Percy asked even as he moved aside and let Dumbledore in.

“I have much to ask of you and little time to do it in,” was his answer.

Percy motioned the man to sit as he turned towards his kitchen to prepare a small tea tray. It took but moments to start a kettle and prep the tea. He paused, waiting for the water to boil the muggle way. He needed a moment to think.

Why was the headmaster here, of all places? With the return of the Dark Lord announced in such a fantastical and stunning way, there would be so much for him to do. As both the leader of the Order of the Phoenix and the man who defeated Grindelwald, he was needed to stem the tide of fear sweeping over the nation. And yet, Dumbledore was slumped on Percy’s stained, old couch, staring at the half-empty bookcases adorning Percy’s walls on either side of the fireplace with an almost vacant look instead.

The kettle whistled. Percy poured the boiling water into the teapot and brought the tray over to the coffee table. He sat heavily beside Dumbledore with a drawn-out sigh.

The silence continued, Percy unwilling to break it and Dumbledore seeming too tired to even start. Eventually Percy leaned forward and poured the tea, offering a cup to Dumbledore before sitting back to watch the older man pull his thoughts together. They were almost done with their cups before Albus finally spoke.

“I need you to do something for me.”

Percy startled, the request coming seemingly out of nowhere. Immediately after that thought crossed his mind, he almost shook his head at the stupidity of it. Of course the man needs something, people always needed something from Percy.

 “Why me?”

“You’re perfectly positioned within the Ministry,” Seeing Percy’s incredulous look and building anger, Dumbledore added, “And you remind me of myself after Arianna’s death.”

Percy immediately quieted, the weight of Albus’s statement settling on his shoulders. Though Percy knew some of the sordid past of the Dumbledore family, he’d only ever heard about the incident from Aberforth’s point of view, and only on the rare nights the barkeep allowed himself to get extremely drunk in front of the then-Hogwarts student. Despite knowing only what he’d parsed together from the drunken slurring, it wasn’t hard to tell that Arianna’s death had been the extreme turning point of Albus Dumbledore’s life. It wasn’t reassuring.

“What I need from you, Percival, is eyes on the minister. As the last year has proven—”

“I cannot give you everything you may need without breaking my Oath, but I am willing to help,” Percy interrupted him.

Albus smiled wryly at first, glad that Percy was willing to work with him in some compacity, before the entirety of Percy’s statement processed. His eyes widened a bit before his gaze turned sharp.

“Oath?” He questioned, a knowing tone in his voice.

Percy grimaced slightly before nodding, “I assume you know about Overwatch, considering you pushed for the creation of the position?”

“Ah,” Dumbledore huffed a short, weary laugh, “So that’s how they implemented it. I thought they just said yes to stop my constant commentary on the Ministry’s corruptibility.”

It was Percy turn to laugh wryly for a moment before Dumbledore continued.

“Then this will work well. All I ask is that you help me support the Minister’s decisions by giving me foreknowledge on his plans. Also, I plan to bring you further into the inner-workings of the Order. We need someone other than myself to keep things organized and secrets remembered.”

“Of course, Albus,” Percy smiled genuinely for the first time in what may have been years. He finally had a proposed direction in his life, a purpose that both served his loyalty and Oath to the ministry and let him follow the same line as his family.

Albus smiled back, small and sad. Percy felt his stomach drop away with his smile. He was sure he knew what Albus was going to ask next, and he didn’t like it.

“There is… one more request I must make of you Percival, but I fear it may hurt you in ways I never intended.”

A chill ran down Percy’s spine and he looked toward the pile of ruined letters, the spilled ink mostly dried and staining his desk through the parchment. It felt like the beginning of the rest of his life and he wasn’t sure he wanted to make the decision.

Albus stared, unblinking and intense, at Percy as he continued, “To help in the fight against Voldemort, against the dark forces encroaching on our world, we need the least likely of allies. A Weasley who has publicly left his family is a good one. A Weasley who has publicly left his family for an intense loyalty to the ministry no matter what happens is better. And if the tide turns as dark as I fear it will, having no familial connections beyond a cast-off name will save your life, Percival.”

The ink sank deeper into the wood of his desk. It was so deep, the outer edges having dried during their conversation, Percy was sure even magic wouldn’t be able to remove every trace of it. It would be stained forever, a constant reminder.

Percy turned to Albus and said yes.


	2. Ginny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end note for warnings. (I told ya'll this one was dark)

_Ginny,_

_Please don’t throw this away without reading it first, though I won’t fault you for doing so. I would know, I’m angry at me too._

_I failed you. I’ve failed you so many times and I know nothing I can say could ever make up for any of it. I know I’m a prat, especially this past year and I want to apologize for all the pain I’ve caused you. I had my head shoved so far up my arse that it’s a surprise I didn’t suffocate. I allowed myself to be clouded by a delusional sense of self-importance and forgot to come back down to earth. I think I’ve been this way for many years, but never realized it until you snapped me out of it._

_Seeing you hurt, unable to defend yourself and so, so vulnerable…it broke something in me. I think it cracked that wall I put between me and the rest of the world and I just_

_Ginny, I love you so much, and I know this doesn’t mean nearly as much coming from me as it would from anyone else but,_

_I would die to keep you from ever being in danger again, would give up everything I am to make sure you stay safe._

_This is the best atonement I can give you._

_If you need anything and don’t think you can go to anyone else, you can come to me. No judgement, ever. That would be incredibly hypocritical coming from this idiot._

_Never forget I love you, no matter how much of a prick I’ve been lately._

_Percy_

~*~

One of the more unfortunate aspects of Percy’s job was his inability to actually quit. He could retire in a few decades, but as long as he was physically and mentally able, he had to fulfill the role of Overwatch in the ministry. He was meant to keep the ministry on the right path, keep it balanced between the extreme viewpoints that ran the wizarding world. And to do this, he had to work closely with the minister, no matter how much the man was beginning to disgust him.

“Well, Mr. Weasley. I do believe that is all for today,” Fudge smirked across his desk at Percy, the intended coyness giving way to a slime that made Percy recoil internally. Despite Percy’s clear disinterest and prior objections, the man continued with, “Since we’re finally done here, how about I take you to dinner? As a reward for all the hard work you’ve been putting in these last weeks?”

His intentions were clear. His ability to understand Percy’s lack of interest was not.

“Unfortunately, Minister,” Percy stood and straightened his waistcoat, “these still need filing and I need to prep for tomorrow.”

Fudge stood as well and moved around his desk as Percy began stacking the paperwork, “There’s nothing urgent on the horizon. It can wait.”

“These are highly classified and—” Turning away from the growing stack, Percy had intended to give the usual excuses before leaving with all haste. Instead, Percy found the minister catching his head and kissing him deeply. After a few seconds of surprise, Percy jerked back violently.

“I—, no!”

Fudge adopted an indulgent expression. Clearly, he was used to getting what he wanted from his underlings. The grim feeling Percy had been suppressing for months sat heavy in the pit of his stomach.

What he’d thought of as an odd, if not completely out of character pursuit by the minister, considering his bachelor persona, morphed into a sudden and intense sense of knowing.

Thinking back, he could clearly see who else had dealt with the Minister’s attentions. Andrew Harrington, the previous assistant who had abruptly resigned after only a month. Martha Hollingston, who had left the ministry in an outraged huff six months previous. Caldrick Everin, an intern who quit after two weeks and moved to Argentina, seemingly on a whim. How Percy had missed this when he accepted the promotion to assistant, and then to Overwatch, he would never know.

And with his Oath, Percy couldn’t resign.

“No need to act coy, Percy. Everyone here knows where your future lies.”

Hands shaking, Percy felt his face heat in anger as he backed towards the office door, realization and disgust waring with slowly growing fear. Trying to salvage the situation, at least as long as it would take for him to leave, he started, “Minister, I believe you have the wrong im—”

“Don’t give me that bullshit!” Suddenly, Fudge was raging. He stalked toward Percy as he continued, “You want my job, you little shit. Everyone sees your aspirations. And if you want to climb to the top, well, you’ll do what everyone else does. You _earn favor_!”

The door was right behind Percy. He could leave right then. He _wanted_ to leave then. Instead Percy did what he always did when truly angry.

 He took a step forward and raged back.

“Mr. Fudge, I do believe you are making a _grave mistake,_ ” threat seeped from Percy’s voice. His magic boiled under his skin. He took another step forward. And another.

“Mistake? I’m the Minister of Magic. I don’t make mistakes.”

“Considering the last year, I think you’ve made plenty of mistakes. Or have the poll numbers from the special election escaped your mind?”

They stood nose to nose, anger boiling between them. Fudge grabbed Percy’s arm and pulled him in closer, trying to make a point through his ire. Fudge’s fingers were hot against his bicep, Percy’s rolled sleeves doing little to stop the disgusting, burning sensation slowly encapsulating Percy’s body. Their heightened emotions were stimulating their magic and it was rolling off them in waves of heat and aggression. He was sure to have finger-shaped bruises, if not burns, by the morning.

Percy could feel the bonds of the Oath straining and, for a terrifying moment, he was unsure if he would get out of this with his magic intact. This was the razor’s edge he stood on. He was to support the minister in any capacity needed, even going against his own morals as long as it kept the ministry on an even keel and able to function as government for the whole of Wizarding Britain. Percy was terrified of the responsibility he’d taken on for the first time since he’d taken the Oath. And it looked like it wouldn’t be the last, considering the intensity of the room.

Then, Janice Allendale, Fudge’s secretary, opened the door.

“Sir, there’s…. Oh, I’ll just—”

Fudge adopted a quick, insincere smile and let Percy go, “Just leave it with the morning brief dear.”

Percy took the moment to straighten his shirt. Then, he turned and left, giving a quiet, “Excuse me, Minister, Janice,” as he went.

Janice was quiet, her gaze turned toward the floor as Percy passed. She wasn’t surprised. Percy felt sick.

Fuck the morning brief. Percy was going home. There were plenty of other assistants and clerks who had the right security level to deal with the paperwork on Fudge’s desk. He needed a drink and a long lie down to deal with the minister’s persistent advances.

If he could, Percy would have resigned months ago. He’d thought the job would be interesting, if not easy. He was all for preserving the peace, keeping the ministry serving the people as best as if could without jeopardizing the security of the populace. It had sounded like a dream job. It had sounded _important._

No one would know his contribution, but he was fine with working in the shadows. Glory was not his forte, no matter what his family believed. He’d just wanted to be important. And he was.

Yet, this was not what he’d expected. This was not what he’d agreed to.

Percy collected his coat and grabbed a stack of paperwork too urgent to leave for the next day and too classified to magic to the filing room from his desk. He kept his head down as he left, reaching the elevator in record time.

The lift was empty, much like most of the building. The work day had ended hours earlier, but new problems were constantly popping up and Percy had always been the zealous type, so he usually worked late and came in early. It also gave him an excuse to avoid his father.

The detour to the high security file room took a few minutes, the trip expedited by the lack of line to the main desk. Percy gave Carol, the woman who ran the late shift for the room, a tight smile before wishing her a good night and bee-lining for the exit.

Then, as Percy’s luck would have it, the elevator opened to a familiar face. His father to be exact.

Awkward silence filled the hallway before Percy heaved a sigh and got on, too tired to take the stairs or wait for the next car.

Percy busied himself with checking his suitcase, not really looking for anything but an excuse not to look at his father. Arthur stared straight ahead. The ride was silent.

The moment the doors opened on the atrium, Percy was out like a shot. There was nothing he had to say to his father and he didn’t want to invite conversation by staying too long. There was nothing he _could_ say, at least not until everything was over. And with how frazzled Percy’s nerves already were, he didn’t want to even entertain the thought of stilted small talk.

He ran to the apparition point and popped directly into his apartment.

He was sure it wasn’t over. The next day proved it wasn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:  
> Fudge forces a kiss on Percy , then grabs Percy and tells him that he must sleep with the minister to move up in the ministry, just like everyone else.
> 
> While Percy makes it out of this encounter, there is the implication that he's not so lucky the next time.


	3. Bill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for warnings

_Bill,_

_I don’t know how involved in everything you are, but you’ve probably gotten the whole story from Dad and Mum. I just wanted to apologize for all the strife I’ve caused, especially in the wake of recent events. I was wrong and_

_I don’t mean this to sound like I’m saying sorry for being wrong. I wish I had been right, though not for the sake of being right. I did not want to return the terror of our childhood, yet I let that fear blind me to the truth and in that I have caused so much pain._

_As the oldest, I know you had to deal with Dad’s anger and Mum’s sadness. Thank you for being there for everyone. I know in my selfishness I hurt them in ways I didn’t, and probably still can’t, comprehend. You were right when you called me a stuffy busybody._

_If there’s anything I can do to alleviate or lessen or whatever the strain of dealing with everyone and everything, I am more than willing to help. Please, if there’s anything, let me help. ~~I promise I’ll make you proud to be my brother on day, if only~~_

_~~Hopefully I’ll be able to live up to the person you believe me to be when we were chil~~_

_~~I just wish~~ _

_~~I lov~~ _

_I’m sorry._

_Percy_

~*~

Everything had gone incredibly smooth for an emergency shift in power after Fudge finally gave up on salvaging his reputation and let Rufus Scrimgeour take the minister’s position unchallenged. Percy had been relieved to get away from the man and had saved his position through a combination of diligence and the unseen power being Overwatch gave him. The office was functioning better than ever with the oppressive eyes of Fudge’s sycophants sacked or reassigned. And yet, things were not going well.

Sighing, Percy sat heavily at his desk. Scrimgeour was just like Fudge, for all that he played at being a tough War Minister. The world was falling apart and the man was simpering to the public, telling them lies and letting them stumble ever deeper into danger. If not for the information Percy had been funneling to Dumbledore, he was sure the Oath would have torn him apart. Still, every day was a struggle.

His magic was slowly killing him. Voldemort was a danger that the magic binding him to the ministry wanted gone and nothing the ministry was doing was actually helping. All he could do was pull strings, forge the minister’s signature, and hope that the intel he was sending to the Order was helping them win that war.

Percy settled in and spent the rest of the afternoon working through a ream of classified information. He was quick to sort the pertinent information from the frivolous, his memory quickly categorizing and filing away anything that would help the Order. As the work progressed, Percy could feel a headache building at the base of his skull. With the stack almost complete, Percy took a moment to stretch. He shifted, wringing out his arms before starting to stand.

Pain shot through Percy’s spine. It was so sudden that he curled in on himself, a small whine escaping his mouth before he clamped it shut. His head dropped to his desk top. He couldn’t breath, couldn’t see, couldn’t think beyond the agony running through his back.

The office continued working, not noticing Percy’s struggle.  Vaguely, he recalled a secrecy clause from the Oath. Could they truly not see him because of those damned words?

An eternity passed.

When he finally came back to himself, the office was empty, the rest of the workers finished with their day. Not trusting his body or his magic, Percy was slow to sit up. The paper he’d been working on was ruined, tears and sweat soaked into it. From the look of the words, he was sure to have ink on his face as well.

Everything felt distant, unreal. Unable to hurt him. He wanted to take his letter opener and stab himself just to make sure he wasn’t a ghost, make sure he hadn’t died sitting at his damn desk in this damn office while his coworkers couldn’t see his twitching body.

A hand slammed down in front of him. Percy blinked at it.

“Pay attention, Mr. Weasley.” said Rufus Scrimgeour. He was towering over Percy.

“Yes sir,” Percy answered automatically, “Was there something you needed?”

Scrimgeour considered Percy for a moment, his gaze calculating before he nodded, “Yes, I need your escort to your parents’ home. A family reunion is a bit overdue in these trying times, eh?”

Distantly, Percy panicked. There was something truly wrong with him, because, instead of protesting and asking for the Minister’s true motive, he just nodded and began gathering his belongings.

~*~

To say things went wrong would be an extreme understatement. Percy had spent the elevator ride down to the atrium desperately trying to piece his brain back together and had ended up with an irritated and aloof caricature of himself. And it had fooled his entire family.

His mother had cried and his father had barely looked at him and his brothers had ridiculed him and flung food and he had messed up _Christmas Dinner_ of all things.

It was Christmas and he hadn’t a clue.

And then the minister had come back in a fuss and dragged him away and all Percy could do was frown a bit.

“That damn, foolish boy! In times like these we need all…” Percy tuned out the minister as they stalked away. He didn’t give a damn in his current state. All he wanted was to turn around and run back to the comfort of his mother’s arms. He wanted, no, _needed_ a hug, damnit.

~*~

A few days later, after Percy had put his head back together and mourned for lost chances and raged against his future and begged for the war to end, he had a packet ready to hand off to the Order.

He was sitting in darkened corner of the Hog’s head, Aberforth’s keen gaze watching his back as he shifted on his stool. The heavy cloak covering his form and the constant rocking were quick to put off most curious customers. The thick sludge of a drink sitting in front of him ensured even the still interested would think twice before approaching him.

A subtle glance at the clock above the bar told him it was almost time for his next contact to appear. He readied the packet in his lap and began scanning the crowd for anyone familiar. So far, he’d passed information to a woman who might have been Hestia Jones, a badly disguised Sturgis Podmore, and once to Bill. That had been a nerve-racking experience, but his outfit and short, growled sentences had sent Bill packing in short order.

Clattering from the front door announced the arrival of Percy’s newest contact in the form of Remus Lupin.

Of course, Remus was just as disguised as Percy, but his distinctive eyes and gait were hard to forget after being his student for a year. Especially since it was one of the most eventful times of Percy’s childhood, bar finding out his sister had been possessed by the evil journal of a school-age Voldemort.

“Hullo, Luv. How’s the drink?” Remus croaked as he approached the table.

“Wretched as usual. Why? You got something better?” Percy answered back, voice ruff and pitched higher than normal.

“Maybe. But we gotta get a room, if you catch my meaning…” Remus gestured towards Aberforth. The Hog’s Head wasn’t strictly a bar and had a few rooms for rent if one paid well enough. Percy had found out what people tended to use them for the hard way in his fourth year.

Suppressing the automatic shiver of disgust leftover from traumatic childhood experiences, Percy slowly nodded and stepped heavily off his stool. His boots clattered against the floorboards. No one turned to look.

Percy kept his steps slow and long as he followed Remus to the bar. It took a few words and the passing of coin, then they were headed upstairs.

Remus immediately warded the tiny room before turning his wand on Percy, “What was the first thing you said to me?”

Percy held his hands up at his sides, the sleeves of the robe sliding down to reveal empty hands, “’You look like shit, are you sure you want to deal with a bunch of children for a year?’ What was your reply?”

“’You look like a pompous brat, are you sure you want to be Headboy for a year?’” Remus replied with a wide grin as he dropped his wand back into his pocket, “Percy, what the hell are you doing here?”

Shrugging off the robe, Percy shook his head wryly, “Passing information to the Order. What else would I be doing?”

“I knew there was something going on. There’s no way you were i stubborn.”

“Ah, well,” Percy felt an urge to rub the back of his head like an errant school boy under the considering gaze of his friend and former professor, “I almost was.”

Remus’s grin softened into a smile as he sat down on the bed, “Despite your claims towards pessimism, you’ve always been an optimist at heart. I don’t blame you for wanting the world to be a better place than it is.”

“But I shoved my head so far up my—”

Remus leaned forward and grabbed Percy arm, pulling him to sit beside him on the bed. Then, he placed a hand on Percy shoulder, “You did what you thought was right. Going against family is incredibly brave Percy. Even if you didn’t get everything right, you still had the courage to set your own path. Don’t feel too bad. After everything is done, all can be explained.”

“Yeah, tell that to the twins. If no one else, they’ll be mad at me for the rest of eternity. Apologies never turn out well when it comes to them. Or Ron. Or _Ginny_ ,” he turned a piteous gaze on Remus, “I’m still dead when this is all over.”

Remus laughed deeply, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. Percy joined in soon after, the humor infectious. It took bit for them to settle, the stress of the last few years finally catching up with them.

“So,” Percy started after he caught his breath, “Why’d you ask for a room? Usually I just hand over the packet and leave. It can’t have just been who I am.”

Remus’s face darkened, and he looked down at his hands, “Albus sent me to collect his ministry contact. He wants to see you. In person.”

Confused, Percy studied Remus, “Is that wise? If anyone catches on—”

“You think I don’t know that? That Albus doesn’t?” Remus shook his head and stood, “Come, it’s important.”

If it had been anyone else, Percy would have refused. But Remus had been a dear friend over the years. Starting in Percy’s seventh year, the man had been the first person to take him seriously. Maybe because he hadn’t watched Percy grow, didn’t have the memories of a younger Percy, he was able to treat him with the respect of an adult. It felt great to have a person who gave him the same level of regard as he afforded the rest of the world. He’d helped to pull Percy ‘s head out of his ass, at least a little bit, and gave him an outlet for the nerves that made Percy build his pompous persona in the first place. It hadn’t truly stuck, Percy’s work with the ministry proved that, but it had been eye opening all the same. And after the man had resigned, Percy had reached out, making sure to keep in touch over the last few years.

A deep friendship had formed, the man still willing to talk to Percy even after he left his family. No matter their politics, or obstinance in Percy’s case, they had still met for lunch to catch up when their schedules allowed. Now that Percy was firmly in the Order’s camp, Percy hoped their friendship could continue after the war.

After all, he owed the man more than he knew.

~*~

Meeting with the Headmaster required a jaunt through the Room of Requirement, passing through three different secret passages, and two tense minutes spent hiding behind a tapestry from a group of fourth year Hufflepuffs out after curfew. When they finally made it to the staircase, Remus stopped Percy for a moment.

“Percy, I need you to know, before going in—” Remus grabbed his arm.

“I already know about the curse. And I know it’s going to be bad. Don’t worry, I’ve got a great poker face,” Percy said, putting a hand on Remus’s shoulder with a reassuring smile before pulling out of his hold and continuing up to the office.

When Albus had begun his hunt, he’d fielded ideas past Percy. Seemingly unconnected to the rest of the Order and their side of the war, Percy had been the perfect sounding board when Albus needed to work on his theories. It was just one of the many similarities the two shared. Percy had always functioned better when he could talk himself through problems, be they a confusing arithmancy question or a strained relationship between ministry departments. They had spent many nights debating aspects of the war before the school year started. And when horcrux’s came up, Percy was the first to know.

Percy had been there in the aftermath of the curse. He’d been the one to receive Albus’s emergency patronus. Had helped him back to Hogwarts. Had fire-called Snape for help. Had held the headmaster down as Snape poured the burning solution across Albus’s dying arm. Had seen the excruciating reality that was the war.

Remus’s warning would be laughable if the world weren’t so dark.

The headmaster’s office was quiet, the twinkling bits and bobs silent was they whirred and shifted in the various cabinetry. The light was dim, a single candle on the desk at the back of the room the only true illumination. Slumped over a stack of parchment was Albus Dumbledore in all his weary glory.

“Percy,” Albus smiled tiredly and moved to stand.

“Please Albus,” Percy said as he walked in, “Sit, for both our sakes.”

The headmaster gave him an amused, thankful look before sitting back and shifting his attention to Remus for a moment, “Thank you for bringing him, Remus.”

Taking the dismissal for what it was, Remus gave a quick nod and with a quiet, “Albus, Percy,” he left.

Albus looked eons worse than the last time Percy had seen him. Everything about the man seemed undone, the usually traditional, strong look gone. Instead, Albus had hung his robe over the back of his chair, exposing the simple, white button-down and dress pants he usually wore underneath. His hair was pulled into a low, messy tail at the base of his skull and ink was smudged across his left cheek. Sleeves pushed back, Percy could see the progression of the curse up and past the man’s elbow.

Silence reigned as Percy crossed the room and sat in one of the chairs across the desk from the headmaster. They considered each other for a long moment. Questions and worry were flying through Percy’s head as he watched the headmaster slowly lean back into his chair. Tension lay across both their shoulders. Things were bad and getting worse.

“Have you talked with Severus lately?” Albus asked, voice just above a whisper.

Percy shook his head, “No, we’ve never been great friends.”

That was the understatement of the century. Even with the extreme difference between Percy and his brothers, the man had still been an intolerant asshole when it came to Gryffindors, especially the smart, less impulsive ones. In fact, Percy was sure his very existence was considered an insult in the potion master’s eyes. Any contact between the two was limited to short, strained conversation regarding the war effort, and only the war effort. With the scrutiny they were both under, their contact had been even more limited, as of late.

Albus smiled, an understanding sadness in his eyes as he said, “Then I must inform you of the progress. Or, to put it more aptly, lack of progress.”

Percy’s eyes darted to his arm.

“I’m dying and there’s nothing we can do about it.”

Pessimist or not, realist or not, Percy had still had a spark of hope that the headmaster would survive the war. Even after the terrifying rescue in June, after the constant signs that things would get much worse before they got better, Percy had been rooting for the best outcome. This had part of the world crashing down around him. His stoic façade crumpled.

Forcing his way past the bone-deep weariness that plagued him since the incident, Albus stood and moved to sit in the chair beside Percy. Taking the young man’s hand in his healthy one, Albus squeezed it in reassurance, “I’ve lived a long-life Percy. Death is but another adventure.”

“I know, it’s just…” Tears streamed down Percy’s face. He hadn’t cried this hard in years, not since the day after Harry saved Ginny from the Chamber of Secrets. And this was pure devastation, no trace of relief or happiness to alleviate the guilt of not paying enough attention, of being too late.

“Wh—What are you doing? I mean, do you—”

Albus smiled sadly, “Severus and I have a plan. That’s why I sent Remus for you. We need a new leader, if not in name, at least in function.”

Percy gaped, tears forgotten, “Albus. You _can’t_ mean what I think you mean.”

“You have the most information, a secure position, and the mind to pull it off.”

“I can’t!” Percy pulled away and stood, pacing, “You’ve seen how badly I cocked everything up! I’m nowhere near good enough to—”

“Percy,” Albus’s voice was quiet as he watched the man, “You have learned from your mistakes. You are the only one I can trust with everything because you know what needs to be done. Who needs to be where. This is a terrible burden, but there is no one else I trust to shoulder it.”

Breathing heavily, Percy turned away and stared at the whirring instruments in the cabinetry. Could he do this? Could he hold the life of every witch and wizard in his hands and fight against the dark? And hadn’t he been doing that these past years as Overwatch? He’d been the even keel in the ministry, the one to assure that radicalism nor conservatism took too much power. He’d forged signatures, lost documents and passed information to an outside source all to keep the wizarding world safe.

The true question was, could he trust himself again? Could he trust himself to make a public impact, to step out of the shadows and take the blame fully onto himself if things went wrong?

He watched Albus in the reflection on the glass door of the cabinets. He was slumped more than before. The ink had smudged further along his cheek and was now streaked through his beard. Heavy bags lay under his eyes. His skin was pale and fragile. While Albus could never look truly weak, not after the amazing power Percy had seen him use so casually over the years, the man looked _worn_.

And he was dying. And they could do nothing about it.

“Okay,” Percy turned and sat back down, “Okay, what do you need me to do?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing too bad this time:
> 
> Percy suffers a disassociative episode after sudden extreme pain brought on by his Oath. 
> 
> There is also a discussion of imminent death, specifically Dumbledore telling Percy he doesn't have long to live.
> 
> Nothing is graphically described, but better safe than sorry.


	4. George

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end note for warnings

_George,_

_Out of everyone, I’m sure you’re the angriest. And, if for some reason you actually open this and read it instead of immediately incinerating it, at least let me say I’m sorry. I was never the brother you needed, I see that now._

_While Bill and Charlie always tried to lift you up, always gave you the positives, I was a negative force. I still think that rules are a necessity, but now I see that I was too harsh in my judgements. You saw the need to challenge and change the rules as we grew and I was stuck in the old ways._

_I can still remember when you broke the door to the hen house. No one would listen when you and Fred talked about how stifling it was getting inside during the summer, how the temperature charms had worn off. And you got in so much trouble, but Mum fixed them and nothing was really damaged in the end. You always got what you needed, in the end._

_I am so proud of the person you’ve become. You and Fred have amazing talent and I know that you’ll change the world for the better._

_I love you so much and I hope you succeed in all your endeavors,_

_Percy_

~*~

The day started busy and got worse from there.

Sometime in the night, Scrimgeour conducted a surprise raid of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures in an attempt to catch dark sympathizers. Instead of finding any hidden death eaters, they’d discovered a backlog of paperwork. This failed attempt, plus the reinforced idea that the ministry was incompetent, had the minister in a rage.

When Percy arrived that morning, 5:30 on the dot and two and a half hours earlier than required, Scrimgeour was yelling at aurors and stalking around the office like a knock-off Severus Snape. A stack of parchment was shoved into Percy’s arms by a frantic Kendra Prod, the minister’s personal secretary after Janice was demoted to a clerk position in the Portkey Office.

“Percy, Thank Merlin! We need all the help we can get,” She said, rushing him over to his desk. She explained the night’s events as quickly as possible before scurrying off to find another poor office worker to dump more paperwork on.

Sighing, he sat down and pulled the first sheet. It was an incident report concerning a Grim sighting in East London two years previous. Percy wanted to tear his hair out. Instead, he began reading, signing, and filing the paperwork as efficiently as possible. He was sure there were more piles to follow and he wanted to be done by the end of day.

At least the pain in his back had eased to a dull thrum of reminder. Now he just had to sort out the rest of the ministry to be rid of the accursed pain.

How he wished for the days of being a simple paper-pusher in the DIMC’s back office.

~*~

Percy skipped lunch to finish his fifth pile. The office was quiet, the other secretaries and assistants either hiding in their enclosed offices or leaving to find food at a nearby café. Scrimgeour had slammed into his office with a sullen attitude and a sandwich half an hour earlier. Percy was only accompanied by the scratch of his quill along a release form from three months past. A quick flourish of his signature and a tap with his wand sent it flying off to be filed in one of the lower security rooms. He stood and stretched, rolling his neck to alleviate his headache.

“Weasley. Good, you’re still here,” Scrimgeour’s sour face was peeking around his door, “Come here.”

Inwardly, Percy cursed. Vehemently.

“Yes, sir.”

Inside, Scrimgeour was pacing. Half his sandwich was gone. The floo flared and Amos Diggory stepped out. His cheeks were red and he was yelling the moment the flames died down.

“Rufus, you know my Department is secure! We do extensive checks of every employee every three years! If this gets out—” He stopped abruptly, seeing Percy standing in the doorway.

Percy cocked an eyebrow before refocusing on the minister.

Rufus heaved a sigh and sat on the edge of his desk, “Close the door, Weasley.”

He shut the door.  

“I see no need for—” Diggory began, his bluster restarting only to be cut off by the minister’s calm tone.

“Weasley, how old were the parchments you worked on?”

“The oldest was six years sir, though Murfitt found an unfinished treaty with the Treestrider Centaur tribe in the Forest of Dean from eight years ago. Sir.”

The red spread from Diggory’s cheeks to encompass his entire face, “Now, Rufus—”

Scrimgeour cut him off again, “And have you finished dealing with the back log Weasley? Finished any of your own work for the day”

“No, sir. Most of the office has been working and we’ve barely made a dent. I just finished my fifth pile before you called me in,” He held up his hands, indicating the approximate size of the piles to prove his point, “I’ll need to stay late if I want to get any of my work done today.”

Scrimgeour turned back to Diggory, arms crossed, and head tilted in faux bemusement, “And now you see my confusion, Amos. You’ve been head of the department for three years now. You’ve worked in the higher levels of the department for ten. And yet, years’ worth of work is only now being completed, by workers unaffiliated with your department. Workers who sort through the most important information in Wizarding Britain. Workers who willingly stay late to finish their work the day it’s due.”

Diggory pursed his lips, staying silent.

“ _This_ incident report could have saved hundreds of man-hours during the Cline Robberies. _This_ is a treaty with the Goblins that was never ratified and explains the hundreds of complaints I’ve seen this month _alone._ What else have you dropped the ball on, Amos?”

From there, the argument started in earnest, Diggory clearly expecting Scrimgeour to treat him like a friend instead of a department head. Within seconds, they seemingly forgot Percy was there. And any attempts he made to leave had one or the other calling for his support before forgetting about him again.

Finally, Diggory yelled, “Than why haven’t you audited the other departments? They’re more lax than I’ve ever been.”

“I will be! Weasley!”

Percy jumped.

“Get the department heads up here. And order an audit of everything. We will clean up this mess!” Scrimgeour sat down heavily and waved his wand, turning his desk into a table and conjuring chairs to accompany it.

“Yes, sir.”

The lunch hour was long over as Percy re-entered the outer office. Kendra gave him a wan smile before turning back to her stack of paper work. Every desk was filled to the brim with parchment. A hoard of papers was flying off to the elevators for filing. Someone had set three new piles aside for Percy to work on.

He was going to be there for days.

~*~

The meeting took hours, various assistants and clerks called in and out of the office as the day waned. The ministry was in chaos. Every department, even the DMLE, had a backlog of paperwork, excepting his father’s department, of all things. Most weren’t longer than a year, but the worst was the Department of Magical Games and Sports. It was a wonder the Triwizard Tournament ever happened considering some of the paperwork was from _twenty years ago_.

Percy was ready to rip his hair out when by the time he finished the first ream. While the departments themselves were working on the backlog, the Minister’s staff was grabbing as much work as possible. The faster this was finished, the faster they could get back to normal. And considering Percy’s back and magic were feeling better than ever, the Ministry would be efficient for the first time in centuries.

And then, it got worse.

Gringotts, and goblins in general, were discreet when it came to death. Family was one of the most important tenants of their culture after all. So, when a will has a privacy clause, they forego owls and send a house elf to deliver a letter of intent at an appropriate time. If there is an immediacy clause, they also send a notification of the passing to those listed as beneficiaries.

Percy was refilling his tea in the empty break room in lieu of actually eating dinner when there was a small, terrifying pop. He knew what it was, and he didn’t want to believe it, didn’t want the safe bubble he’d been living in for the last year to burst. He didn’t turn around. He couldn’t turn around. It couldn’t be _real._ He couldn’t do this, not yet. Not ever.

“Mr. Weasley?” the house elf had a soft, high voice, perfect for delivering bad news, “Mr. Weasley, I bring sad news.”

“Please…” His voice broke and tears flooded his eyes, “Please just leave it.”

A red envelope was gently set on the counter beside him and the elf popped away. His hand shook as he grabbed it and tucked in into his pants pocket. He was suddenly very glad he hadn’t eaten all day.

He kept his head down and held the tears back as he hurried to the nearest loo. Making his way to the furthest stall, he cast a hasty silence spell and let go.

~*~

The office was still busy when Percy finished and made himself presentable. He couldn’t have an abnormal reaction. He was supposed to be a servant of the ministry’s agenda. He was supposed to cut his ties with his old life. He was supposed to be cold in the face of his friend’s death.

Percy sat, glaring at McGruder when the man gave him an odd look. He made sure to rub his stomach and audibly clink the emergency medical potions in his desk drawer a few times before settling in. He could only hope his pale face and red eyes helped. Nothing made people stay away as well as a presumed illness. Maybe it could even put off the inevitable delivery of the news.

He was quick to grab another sheet and work his way through it. And then another. And another. And another. By his tenth sheet, Percy was confused. Surely someone would have said something by now, even in passing. This was a big deal, no matter how the ministry had treated the Headmaster in the past. Anyone with a brain knew that he was the only thing standing between Voldemort and the rest of Wizarding Britain.

And yet, no one let him know. There wasn’t even an air of disturbance in the office. They were all chugging away signing and scribbling and stamping paperwork as they had been when he’d left. Nothing had changed. Realization was swift and Percy forced himself to keep working as he understood what was going on.

They didn’t know.

Percy glanced at the time, unsure of how long he’d been away from his desk. He had to have been in the loo for hours. He’d felt rung out by the time the tears dried and he could pull himself up from the floor.

But no. It was just under an hour since he left and at least ten minutes of that had been after he got back. He was stunned. There was no way he’d been in the bathroom for so short a time. It had felt like an eternity of sorrow and rage sweeping over him in crashing, killing waves. He’d screamed and howled so long his throat was hoarse with the exertion. He’d cried so hard that he’d run out of tears, hadn’t he?

Something told him that he was amplifying the situation. Percy knew he had to work. Percy knew he had to keep his cover. So, Percy had let a few incredibly tense moments through and pushed it away as fast as possible so he could function. And now he could feel the emotion pushing at the back of his throat and under his eyes and through his hands.

Percy was a master compartmentalizer, even when he couldn’t function well enough to know it. And now, as Percy stared down at the growing ink blot on the report in front of him, he knew the dam was going to break someday. He only hoped he would survive the flood that followed.

But, even if it had been about an hour since the death, how could they not know? Yes, the Headmaster had put Percy’s name under an immediacy clause in the will. And yes, there was a privacy ward to keep it from being announced to all and sundry by owl, but there was a plan. He would not go out quietly. He still had a few weeks left fighting the curse and they had agreed that his death would need as much meaning as possible.

He would have died dramatically. There would have been a scene. There would have been meaning behind it. Someone else _had_ to know!

It was almost an hour later, with most of Percy’s current stack completed, that the ministry finally received the news.

A solemn Sebastian Williamson walked into the main office with the air of a condemned man. Percy was the first to notice him, having kept careful watch for incoming news. The presence of an auror instead of an owl or other messenger only confirmed that he had gone out in a spectacular fashion, as planned.

Percy felt sick.

Around him, the other workers slowly came to a halt, the room growing quiet with tension as the man made his way to Scrimgeour’s door. Percy held his breath as Williamson walked in without pause.

He was still holding it when Scrimgeour walked out a moment later, pale and ragged.

“Albus Dumbledore is dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:  
> Not much this time, just the notification of Dumbldore's death and Percy having a panic attack. It's not too graphic, it's more glossed over than anything.


	5. Charlie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is when it gets real, folks.
> 
> Like always, see end notes for warnings (seriously).

_Charlie,_

_I don’t know how you do it. Mum and Dad were so mad when you left but they are so proud of you for being who you are and doing what you want. No matter that you left without word. No matter that we didn’t find out about your job until Fred found your letter 3 days after you left. No matter that you’re risking your life for your work._

_I don’t mean to sound jealous, though I surely am. I just can’t figure out how you managed to keep a good relationship with our parents. I did what I was passionate about, same as you, and I even went into a safe, close to home job, but they hate it._

_Should I have left like you? Should I have risked my life doing something more interesting than paperwork?_

_I’m sorry to unload on you like this, but you were always the one I could go to. Can I still come to you?_

_I know you sided with Mum and Dad and everybody, but, I wish I had talked to you before everything went down. Maybe I would have been able to salvage everything. And now I know I was wrong and I want to apologize and I’m writing letters to at least try but_

_I’m sorry for disappointing you. Please write back?_

_Percy_

_~*~_

Scrimgeour was dead and Percy was covered in blood. From his position behind his desk, he could see the last chunks of the man’s brain matter slowly drip down the side of a filing cabinet. Murfitt’s unmoving legs were slumped against a wall, the rest of him hidden behind his desk. He could hear McGruder pleading for his life before a flash of spell light and a sickening squelch signaled his end.

Percy was doing little better than his dead colleagues. There was a gash in his side and a gash in his hand and a gash in his forehead and he was _terrified_. He’d tried to prepare for the realities of war. He’d read old memoirs, talked to some of his now probably-dead colleagues who had lived through the fighting of the first war. He’d trained and prepared best he could, but nothing was really the same as the slaughter going on around him.

Spells were flying in sparkling glints of light, the beautiful, terrifying emerald of the killing curse splattered on the wall above his head. Kendra lay dead in the hallway just outside the entrance to the main office, her throat blown open minutes before in the initial incursion. A desk flew past as a banishing spell caught the edge and it ran through two death eaters and another employee. Percy stopped looking at faces and focused on robes. If he didn’t see who went down, he might just make it through this.

There was a back-up plan if the Oath and Percy’s own brand of cunning didn’t get him through this. While not nearly as subtle, Percy had his will fixed up and ready to go, leaving all documents detailing the Order’s work and any information he could pass from the ministry to help the fight all bundled into two packages. One would go to Remus, the other to Oliver Wood. They would be instated as the next leaders of the Order and, hopefully, the last.

A bright purple spell clipped his shoulder as he rolled away from his faltering desk. It burned down his arm and up his neck in tendrils of heat. He screamed once before the pain took his voice away and curled into a ball around the appendage. And he stayed that way for the last minutes of the fight. His breath was harsh and barely under control when the fighting stopped. He wouldn’t have moved even if he could.

Panting, Percy watched as the death eaters gathered at the door to the office, one of them kicking Kendra’s body out of the way, another just stepping on her as they passed. Voldemort, in all his dark glory, walked into the room with otherworldly grace. His feet were bare, and he left red tracks as he moved through the splintered space. Each body was examined with aloofness and the few other living members of the ministry were swiftly ended.

He almost passed Percy, his area of the office set to the side and mostly out of the main area. But Percy needed to be found. But Percy had to keep working. But Percy had to face the monster stalking through the office and convince him of his loyalty to the ministry, no matter who ran it.

Percy choked out a pained whine.

Red eyes the same color as the fresh viscera painting the walls and full of undying, chilling passion focused on him and Percy’s world fell away. Everything was pain as the man ripped through his mind. Only the steel ball surrounded in a protective covering of painful memories and resentment towards others kept the monster from knowing his true feelings, his true purpose.

When the eternity passed and the blood was gone from his vision and his lungs started functioning again, Percy found the monster crouched over him.

“We will need someone who knows how this office was run, won’t we Bellatrix?” It said as it tilted its head back and forth. It ran a finger down Percy’s face, catching a drop of blood from his cheek and holding it up to the light.

“Of course, my lord. Though, a Weasley might not be the best choice,” Bellatrix was so meek sounding that Percy couldn’t help glancing at her in confusion, even with the horrific form so close.

Above him, the monster chuckled and pulled Percy’s chin up, forcing him to uncurl into a kneeling position in front of it, “Look at that baby face, Bella. It’s almost cute in its confusion. And besides,” It gestured to the blood and splinters and burns and destruction, “It’s not as though we have much choice.”

Here, it turned to look directly at the woman. She lifted her chin in pride at the chaos she wrought, “I’ll make sure he doesn’t betray us, my lord.”

It smiled, and Percy felt a bone deep chill he was sure would never leave.

~*~

The next week was the worst week Percy would ever experience. At least, he hoped it was.

Bellatrix Lestrange was horrifying before her stint in Azkaban, and all the time to ruminate on her own insanity had led to a very disturbed woman. She employed every bit of that madness on Percy.

She wasn’t above muggle methods, though she used a house elf to employ it as she ranted and raved to Percy about the great man he would serve when she was done with him. For hours, she would have the elf run knives down his legs or whip his back or pull his arms from his sockets. She would probe his mind with her own limited legilimency, planting fake memories and bringing old ones to light.

And then the man turned monster came and took him away.

If it had been a day later, an hour later, a minute later, Percy wasn’t sure he would have held out. And then, he almost wished he hadn’t.

The monster was its own form of torture. It touched Percy, healed his wounds, made him feel alive again. But the touches burned with cold and he could still feel the razor edge of every healed scar.

When the ministry finally settled, and they needed someone to manage the office, the monster let Percy go, confident he knew every secret, knew where Percy’s loyalties lay, knew every aspect of his mind and body.

The steel ball stayed shut and covered. Percy could breathe through the chill.

~*~

Dolores Umbridge was the only familiar face in the office. Everyone else had been pulled from other departments or inserted from the death eater’s ranks. Percy spent the first few weeks modifying procedure, teaching newbies, and correcting paperwork. From her reclaimed office, Umbridge watched him like a hawk and licked her pink stained lips.

Nothing could be done when someone stepped out of line in the wrong way. Umbridge was always looking for examples, and while Percy was protected as Voldemort’s favorite and the only one who could run the office, the others weren’t. Few days passed in peace and Percy just had to look away, had to keep his head down and let it happen.

They would understand in the end. They would live through the pain and see the monster destroyed. They had too.

Some of the staff came to him after work. Some came to his apartment. Some just followed him on the street. They all could see their shame and fear reflected in his eyes. Most came for comfort, either their own or in a misguided attempt to sooth his. Few came in anger, needing an outlet for their rage in bloody fists and dark bruises. And some came not knowing what they needed in the confusion of daily life. Percy helped them all as well as he could. He told them to keep their heads down and survive. He gave them tea and hugged them as they cried. He took their punches and gave a few of his own. He spelled wounds closed and wiped away tears. He held them through the night and helped them clean up in the morning.

Through it all, Percy was cold. He didn’t think he would ever be warm again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:
> 
> The chapter begins with a graphic battle in the ministry and includes a fair bit of gore.
> 
> Voldemort does what he does best and tears into Percy's mind in the aftermath of the battle.
> 
> While not graphic, torture by Bellatrix onto Percy is described.
> 
> It's implied that Voldemort also tortured Percy, but more along the lines of mind manipulation and rape
> 
> It's also described, though not in any graphic way, that some of Percy's surviving colleagues take their woes out on him. This is left more open to interpretation than anything else and can be taken anyway you like.


	6. Fred

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for warnings

_Fred,_

_How can you be so incredibly kind all the time? I know you try to hide it behind vicious pranks, but you’ve never hurt someone who didn’t deserve it have you? I used to envy you. I still envy you, I think. What am I missing?_

_I should have paid more attention to your moral compass, should have tried to follow your example. But instead, I had my head shoved in my arse, thinking my own shit was all I needed in the world. From now, I think I’ll try to take you as an example to live by. I will surely fail, but at least I’m trying, right? It’s the thought that counts?_

_Who am I kidding. I know you’re the more forgiving of my younger siblings, but I also know I’ve spent your patience more than any other being on this plane. This will be in ashes the moment you get it. Heck, maybe you’ll burn George’s too. He’ll thank you for it._

_I love you. No matter how asinine I’ve been lately, please never forget that I love you more than life. If I wasn’t sure you’d punch my brains out, which I deserve, I know, I’d just floo home right now and hug the living daylights out of all of you._

_I’m sorry I’ve been Prefect Percy instead of just Percy, your older brother for most of your life. I promise to be better in the future, if you’ll have me._

_Percy_

_~*~_

It took two days of hearings for Percy to figure out how to reliably hide Muggleborn birth records. It took another to devise how to add magical heritage to Muggleborn histories. And it took three more for Percy to poison himself discreetly enough to be permanently dismissed from the Court Scribe position. He’d had to keep his head down even further than usual for a few days, but eventually the extra death eater guards left, and Percy had a sense of relative peace to work with.

Umbridge watched from her office, the eye in her door rotating about and focusing on him every so often. Bellatrix walked in every few days to stare at him as he worked. She spent most of the time leering at him and playing with a bloodstained knife. Letters from the monster appeared on his desk telling of its exploits and what it planned to do to him the next time it was at the ministry. Random death eaters would grab him in the halls or send spells over his head to spook him.

Through it all, Percy forged signatures, changed legislation, and hid paperwork. His magic roiled under his skin, the Oath stoking it into a raging fury as it burned through his spine.

Fighting back and fucking with the records was the only thing getting him through every day. Even his work outside the ministry with the Order wasn’t enough to sustain his hope. It seemed like every week a different cell would go silent. Rarely did they come back. Though it made him feel incredibly guilty, he made sure to pay extra attention to his family. Arthur hadn’t been at work the day the night the ministry fell, and Percy was sure it was the only reason he survived. The artifacts office had been wrecked, Arthur’s few subordinates blown to bits in their chairs.

This was where Percy would base his operation.

It was easy to get into the office unseen. It was practically a closet and most of the surviving members of the ministry avoided the back hallway leading to it like the plague. One thing most of the ministry, and even Percy on occasion, forgot was that the Muggle Artifacts Office also held wizarding records. It had the most comprehensive list of muggleborns and muggle affiliated wizards in Wizarding Britain. And no one, not even the death eaters, ever went in.

The first time Percy opened the door, he almost passed out from the smell alone. A hurried series of air freshening charms and a banishment spell had the odor of rot and decay confined to the room. He forced himself into the dark office and shut the door.

Maybe it was the late night, maybe it was the long day, maybe it was the stress of living with the enemy, but the blood and gore and decay that filled the space wasn’t as horrifying as Percy thought it would be. He spent the first night collecting the members of the office and the second collecting personal objects and boxing them up. He wouldn’t return the remains to their families. Even if they were alive, he couldn’t have anything that could lead to the office. It was vital that it stay forgotten.

As he scrubbed and summoned and cleaned, he thought hard on what he needed to do. It wouldn’t be too difficult to hide the hallway. Magical buildings were mobius, the walls as movable as clay under the right circumstances. And he knew the caretaking staff well.

~*~  
The Filch family was well-known for their ability to maintain and restore magical artifacts. Considering the age and magical saturation of the ministry building, it wasn’t a surprise that the family held the maintenance contract.

“Boris, please,” Percy was sitting in the back office of the underground preservation and maintenance tunnels, “I just need the office hidden sometimes, or at least inaccessible to others.”

“No,” Boris Flich was a large man and he used his size to loom over Percy as they argued, “Beyond the complications of constantly shifting a part of the building, we would need people working outside the tunnels. That can’t be done discretely!”

“Then what am I supposed to do!” Percy threw his hands up in despair, “This is the only place I can keep the records. They’re locked to the office and they’re on warded paper, so I can’t copy them. And I refuse to let more die!”

The office had fallen silent, the other workers staring with open abandon. A group of workers was peeking in from the front, their eyes wide in confusion and shock. Few people outside the preservation team had ever made it into the offices, so just having Percy there was an oddity. Seeing someone from outside the department and not part of the Filch family yelling at the patriarch was nigh unheard of.

“Just because Argus knows you—” Boris started, face turning red.

“It’s because of Argus that I even care!” Percy erupted from his seat.

They stared at each other for a moment before Percy turned away, defeated and angry, “Fine. I’ll figure something out.”

Percy walked away, head held high. He was sure this would mean his death, but would that be so bad? He would do what he could before then and save as many lives as possible. Even one life was better than none, right?

Something about Percy’s defiant walk must have changed Boris’s mind because he sighed heavily before calling out, “We can move a wall, block the office off from the hallway permanently,” Boris slumped into his seat and grabbed a scrap of parchment. He sketched a few equations and a basic diagram as he waved Percy back, “Here. If we open an entrance into the back of the room from the tunnels than we don’t have to do any front-side work.”

Percy looked stunned for a moment before walking back to the desk, “But if notice the missing office, they’ll watch for anyone loitering in the area. Even worse, they might start watching the Maintenance entrance. They’ll know someone is using the tunnels to do something secret and they’ll come after all of you. I won’t risk anyone else.”

“The tunnels are much more nebulous than the rest of the building,” Here, Boris grinned wide at Percy, eyes flashing with deadly intent, “They are their own dimension, dear Percival. Any death eaters who make it past the entrance never make it out.”

Well, that answered every question he had about how the maintenance staff still had squibs, blood-traitors, and muggleborn on staff. Of course, the Filch family was known for their extreme tolerance and liberalism, Argus being the only bitter exception, in some ways. It was why Percy felt no fear talking openly about his need to hide the former accidents office.  And yet, they were deeply ingrained in the ministry and the death eaters should have destroyed their department first. Not being able to find or access their headquarters was clearly the main thing keeping them alive.

“Are you okay with letting me into your tunnels?”

“We’ve let you this far. And Argus seems to like you more than he likes the rest of us sorry bastards,” Boris waved a hand, unconcerned “Is there somewhere you can easily access that won’t raise suspicion?”

Confused, Percy asked, “What do you mean?”

Boris gave him an impatient look, “For your tunnel entrance. We need a space big enough for you to fit through, doesn’t need to be door size.”

“Seriously?” Percy was astounded. He’d never heard of the maintenance department creating new entrances for anyone, not even the minister.

One of the women peeking into the office spoke up, “You’re helping people like us. We want to help you.”

Every person in the office was looking at Percy with serious expressions. For the first time, he noticed the murmur in the hallway outside. More and more workers were crowding around the entrance. Peering between the normal workers, Percy could see others. People he’d thought dead in the initial incursion.

“You’ve been…” he gestured to the doorway.

“Our system is more secure than the Hogwarts tunnels. Of course, we grabbed who we could. Not nearly enough, but some.”

This was exactly what Percy needed.

“Boris, what so you know about the Order of the Phoenix?”

~*~

With the creation of the tunnel, a new alliance with the Filch family, and an unexpected influx of new Order members, Percy had a new routine. He would check in randomly and only on days when he’d been left alone by the invading force. On the nights when he went home, he usually had a follower, another ministry worker looking for something. Percy would do what he could and spend the rest of his night forging documents to deliver to Maintenance.

Two days after he’d first talked with the Filch family, the largest drawer on the left side of his desk was turned into a tunnel just big enough for him to climb down if it was fully extended. It also let him pass documents to the crew throughout the day.

Things were like clockwork after that. Percy would find new files, would pass along his forgeries, and would do everything he could to mitigate disaster. Contrary to the disarray in the ministry, his magic was strong. The Oath was more than fulfilled through his tactics and the resistance in the ministry was growing every day. The Filch family was opening up the tunnel system and expanding farther into London. They’d even set up a few localized safe houses to pass fleeing wizards through, be they muggle born or not.

And then, Voldemort made a visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:
> 
> It's mentioned that Percy poisoned himself, though it's glossed over.
> 
> Mild gore description from the Muggle Artifacts office.
> 
> A sense of growing hope that will soon be crushed.


	7. Ron

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for warnings

_Ron,_

_You are the smartest of all of us. Seriously. I know you feel overshadowed, especially by Bill and Charlie, but I need you to know that you are truly the best of us._

_Do remember the first time you beat me in chess? You were 5 years old, barely able to see over the edge of the table let alone see the entire board and you handed me my ass in three minutes. And the next day you managed to beat dad. You’ve always seen the long game, been the one with the best instincts. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you, then or now._

_You inspire me. You’ve fought through so much with the bravest face I’ve ever seen and made it to the other side of every conflict with a smile. You are so resilient and brave that I find myself jealous more often than not._

_I love you so much and deeply regret the enemy I made myself into when we were young. If you ever forgive me, please know that I want to make an effort. I want to create a better relationship than when we were young._

_Thank you for never compromising who you are. You are truly the bravest of us all and the best embodiment of Gryffindor I’ve ever seen._

_I love you so much and I’m sorry for doubting you for so long._

_Percy_

~*~

The Dark Lord had been busy. His people were tracking muggleborns, attacking muggle settlements, and trying to find The Boy. He spent the months flaunting his power in front of the futile resistance and the remnants of the Order of the Phoenix. He stalked through the halls of the castle he once called home and now claimed as part of his dominion. The world bowed beneath his feet and he ruled with the greatest fear known to mankind. He was life and he was death and he could take either away whenever he wanted.

He’d visited the hallowed halls of law on occasion since his ascension, but today was a special day. He was checking in on his puppet minister personally. And, in due course, he would be checking in on his main office. Bellatrix had thoroughly broken the Weasley boy and he had put him back together. As much as he’d wanted to visit earlier, he’d held back, wanting to savor the visit when he had time. And with The Boy laying low, most of the resistance quelled and the world laying at his feet, he thought it the perfect time to pamper himself.

~*~

The letter sat on Percy’s desk. All he could do was stare at the folded pages, at the swirling, beautiful script. Usually it was detailing what the monster had been up to, what the monster wanted to do to him. This held none of that. It was terrifying. The monster was coming back to enact everything it had been writing. And Percy could see no escape in sight.

No one had heard from Harry Potter in months. None of the spies and allies he had looking could find more than the occasional unsubstantiated rumor. All they knew was that he wasn’t dead. They just had no idea what he was doing or if the hunt was in anyway successful.

The only thing that kept Percy breathing each night and getting out of bed each morning was the need to keep his family alive, to win this war so they could have a better life. Everyone was still going strong, the only maybe being Ron after he left Bill’s cabin. And if Ron died, if _anyone_ died because he couldn’t handle what life was throwing at him, well, it would be the same as Percy killing them himself.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bellatrix perched on a nearby desk. Her smile was especially toothy, her lips pulled almost gruesomely wide at the sight of Percy’s pale face and trembling hands. She was flipping her knife in a casual, smooth motion, her attention fully on Percy in her glee.

“Aw, is the little Weasley scared? Would you rather I take you?” her voice was low and husky with a slight hysterical edge that sent a shiver down Percy’s spine.

“I do what is needed, ma’am,” He responded, voice quiet and eyes down-turned. He forced his hands to move and settled back into his work. The monster could be there any minute and he needed to have all evidence of his tampering hidden away. He was relieved that he’d already passed on the file he’d been working on earlier.

First order of business was warning his compatriots, both in and outside the Ministry. Though Bellatrix watched closely, she didn’t have a good view of his working space. It was easy to pull a scrap of parchment onto a piece of paperwork and jot a small note. He then took a moment to shuffle a completed pile of papers into a drawer and slid the scrap onto his lap. Then, hands still shaking, he broke the nib on his quill.

The tremor in his voice was completely real as he tried and failed to cast a _reparo_ on it. He could feel the eyes of the entire office on him as he cursed and, as planned, rummaged through his desk for a new one. He slipped open the large drawer and dropped the note into the passage before shutting it and turning the knob.

The drawer was equipped with an emergency switch that also acted as a lock from the outside. When activated, a small light would flip from green to red on Boris’s desk and the tunnels would lockdown. Then, once someone had confirmed why the signal was sent, they would either evacuate or hunker down. Percy desperately hoped they would evacuate. He couldn’t have anymore deaths on his conscience, not if he could prevent them.

The rest of the morning was spent working on paperwork. It was incredibly normal for all that Percy could feel a tension headache building in his temples. While no one was brave enough to gossip, or even talk to each other with Umbridge and Bellatrix watching over the office, Percy caught more than a few concerned looks. Even the few death eaters working in the office looked disturbed.

Percy could feel a tremor starting in the small of his back. His magic was reacting to his fear and sitting at the edge of his skin. The bonds of the Oath were pulsing around him, almost physical in their tightness as they reminded him of his duty.

Magic is a neutral force. It was never really talked about beyond the highest levels of academia, always thought of as good or bad by the wizarding populous, but in truth, magic is a tool, a force so complex it laid outside the realm of possibility. And, like any other force, magic has no real morality. So, Percy could only guess what the Oath wanted, what the wording implied he should do. Was his fear causing an adverse reaction? Was it pushing for him to fix the problem? Or was it helping him, keeping his magic from exploding outward in his stress?

Not for the first time, and definitely not for the last, Percy dearly wished He’d never taken the Oath.

~*~

It appeared as the day was coming to a close. Percy had been waiting, tense on the edge of his seat and hoping, fruitlessly, that he could escape into the tunnel system when the workday was over. But, Bellatrix and her knife and Umbridge and her eye and the office and their whispers had chained him to his desk until the last possible moment. And now, the monster was here.

Red, bloody eyes gazed over its domain with blatant hunger and arrogance. Everyone averted their gaze, quills flying faster over parchment, though no memos dared to fly by in the presence of the monster.

“My dear Bellatrix, I see things are going well,” His voice was smooth, a wave of blood-chilling silk that swept through the office, drowning the occupants in a sweep of terror.

“Of course, My Lord. Nothing less for you,” Bellatrix said, voice demure. It was nauseating.

Percy kept his head down, working on the last pieces of paperwork spread across his desk. As his quill moved, Percy focused on his attention on the monster in front of him. It had begun stalking slowly through the room, attempting to strut, for all that its mere presence ruined any air of nobility or arrogance. No, these were the steps of the _thing_ , entirely in control but unrestrained in their intensity.

The swish of a robe, the stilling of a quill, the hitched breath of panic, and Percy was sitting in front of the monster, alone despite the full room. One pale, lithe hand sat upon Percy’s paperwork, the fresh, wet ink staining its palm. Then, it turned, knowing it had Percy’s gaze, and drifted towards his face. Dark splotches, mussed words, met Percy’s chin and turned his head toward the monster.

“And how have you been, my little Weasley? Enjoying my presents?” Its mouth uncurled, revealing a salivating maw. It let his face go and placed its stained hand on Percy’s head. It stroked through his curls, leaving streaks of black, “I will so enjoy our time together.”

Percy couldn’t stop the flinch and the monster smiled ever wider.

Then, the monster turned away.

“Daniels, you had something for me?”

One of the ever-present Death Eaters at the edge of the room stepped forward. His head was tilted up and his back was straight. Clearly, he thought his information important.

“Yes, My lord. We discovered a discrepancy this morning.”

The hand in Percy’s hair clenched slightly. Percy went still.

“A discrepancy?” the silk was gone, only oil remained.

The death eater recoiled a half-step, rethinking his words, “Yes, my lord. A recent one. We believe the traitor has only been so bold as to oppose you for the last week or so.”

The hand went back to petting, “Is that so? And who is this problem?”

A surge of movement had two more death eaters grabbing Mitchell Saunders. He was a pudgy man and one of the few upper echelon workers still left from before the coup. He’d stepped into line just like the rest of them and kept his head down under the new management. Nothing about the man said he would willingly defy the new order. Nothing but his squib little sister who disappeared the day the ministry fell.

“I-I didn’t do—” He protested futilely. 

“Of course you didn’t,” Bellatrix piped up. She stalked forward and ran a hand along the man’s jaw in a mockery of care.

“Please believe me, I didn’t do anything! I’ve been loyal!” Even Percy could see the lie in the man’s eyes, barely hidden by the rising terror.

Percy had known the younger Saunders. She’d been a few years older and so withdrawn that Percy spent many Boxing Day parties sitting in the same corner as her while the other witches and wizards from the Ottery-Saint Catchpole area caught up and exchanged holiday cheer in the Diggory ballroom. She’d been nice, always making the best of her situation with a quiet, reserved grace. And Mitchell would always drag her into the excitement by the end of the evening, would put a smile on her face.

He’d liked her despite never knowing her name.

The all too silent twinge, the Oath that bound him to the Ministry, sparked along his spine, then went quiet. He could almost feel a hum in the back of his mind. It was content to see this through, to watch Percy destroy himself in the name of the Ministry, in the name of the Wizarding World, if only it meant others would survive the coming destruction.

“It was me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:
> 
> Voldymoldy comes to the ministry and Percy basically has a panic attack. It's not graphically described. In fact, it's more implicit than anything.
> 
> Voldy's interactions with Percy in general.
> 
> Just Bellatrix in general?


	8. Dad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for warnings

_Dad,_

_You always told us to stand up for what we believe. Bill stood up to you and Mum and made a living walking into some of the most treacherous traps in the world. Charlie left to live with some of the most dangerous creatures in the world. The twins constantly break the rules, play pranks and take revenge and work toward a business that you and Mum clearly disprove of. Ron and Ginny have almost died in the safest place in Wizarding Britain, if not the whole of Europe._

_Why am I different? What did I do wrong? Was I not good enough as a child, not interesting enough? I wanted to be like you, wanted to work in the ministry and make a difference just like you were. But I was the one pushed away, the one dislike despite following the rules, following in your footsteps, playing it safe._

_I know that we value bravery over power, that being a Gryffindor is a point of pride for the Weasley family. And I followed in those footsteps for a reason. I want to be brave, I consider myself brave. And maybe I was brave, from another perspective, for stepping away and taking my own path. But why did you hate me for it. Why was my bravery so different?_

_I was of the same mind as you, you know? I knew there was no way I’d ever get such a powerful position no matter how hard I tried or how experienced I was. Even running an entire department with little to no guidance from a man I barely knew would never be enough skill or talent to get me into the upper crust. And I was fine with that. But you thought I was an idiot, that I was jumping in head first without considering the water._

_Dad, I knew exactly what was going on and I was ready to shove it back in their faces. But they showed me respect, they at least acted like I deserved my place after all the shit I’d gone through. I faced an inquiry for not noticing Mr. Crouch’s affliction and came out better for it. I was finally valued beyond being the second extra heir to a floundering family. And don’t you dare tell me we were fine._

_I watched for years as Mum fretted over bills and worked at night to make extra income because you were stagnating at work. I helped her craft potions and make charms and take the garden extras to market while everyone else played. I know exactly how low funds were most days, and I refuse to let Mum ever suffer that way again._

_This job came with a big pay check and even bigger responsibility. Yes, I got the power I sought, the recognition from my peers, if not the public, but I also have the power to help Mum. And if you and Mum would get past your damnable pride, I’d finally be able to provide for you. I know you refuse money from Bill and Charlie, but I will not be dissuaded any longer. I can’t keep you safe any other way since you are putting yourselves front and center in Voldemort’s line of fire._

_I’m sorry that this turned into a rant, but you need to hear it. I never got a chance to let you know how I feel. And I am sorry for the pain I put you through. It was never my intention, I promise you._

_~~And Dad, I miss you so~~ _

_~~I just~~ _

_~~I lo~~ _

_Percy_

~*~

“It was me.”

The hand in his hair was deathly still. The monster turned. The monster stared. The monster lunged.

Percy was dragged out of his chair, scalp screaming. Dark, bloody eyes glared into his and the world fell away as he grabbed his wand and kicked the drawer and the death eaters let Saunders go and a small hole was growing in the wall behind the man and—

A stake of fury drove through his eyes and into his mind. Percy knew what to do.

The smug, arrogant part of him rose to the surface. Memories, thoughts, feelings, everything revolving around tricking the scariest monster, the scariest _man_ alive clouded the all too important information sitting in the back of his mind. Instead, Percy let the man dig as deep into the emotions and the trickery Percy had perfected over the last 20 years.

He didn’t care for his own weaknesses. Let the man see what made Percy Weasley tick. Everything was already set; Harry and Hermione and Ron were well on their way toward ending the damn war. So, Percy gave up, gave in and let the man pretending to be a monster look futilely for the steel ball hiding in the back of his mind.

Flashes passed his vision.

_Aberforth smiled wide and handed Percy his fifth shot of Firewhiskey, “Twelve motherfucking O’s on twelve motherfucking OWLs! Even Albus had an EE in History. Hell, I don’t think anyone’s gotten an O in History since Binns died.”_

_Percy downed the shot with a grimace and reached the glass out for another, “Yeah, tell that to my brothers. Or my dad.”_

They swirled away, Percy shoving even more at—

(A bright, pulsing light)

_He stared at the werewolf crouched in front of him. Its eyes were fierce and penetrating. Staring right into Percy’s soul. Judging him. And Percy was almost hopeful. This could be what he was looking for. Forget the knife, a werewolf attack would be perfect. So, he stepped forward._

_Hysterical laughter bubble upwards and_

\--the man, keeping him away from—

(familiar warmth in his spine)

_Argus was swaying, bumping harder into Percy with every step. Rank beer and old sweat filled his nose and made the teen want to puke. Violently. Preferably all over the man slung over his shoulder or, better yet, Aberforth for making him take the drunkard back to the castle._

_“You know, my family is important. We made Hogwarts, put together all the pa-passages and the w-w-wards and everything. And you stupid kids just_

\--the ball. He couldn’t find—

(it hummed, approving)

_Gabriel Bowlin was a boulder of a man with the insecurity of a teenage girl. It didn’t mean he punched like teenager though._

_“And. You. Just. Let. It. Happen!” The man roared, each word punctuated by a hit._

_Percy let it happen, barely raised his arms to defend his face. It always started this way with men like Bowlin. He was just scared and anxious. It would all be over soon._

\--it. So, Percy overwhelmed him with—

( _this is your duty_ , the warmth said)

_He was face down, the hand on his head shoving him further into the pillow. His hands clenched anxiously at the sheet beneath him._

_He just had to make it. Fudge would be done soon and he could leave. He could leave and go—_

( _I will help you_ , it hummed in his spine)

Voldemort tore away from Percy’s mind, frustration visible on his face.

Blood dripped from Percy’s nose. It was just reaching his lips when he raised his wand in a fast, whipping motion. The orange blasting hex left the tip of his wand as the death eaters sent red stunners. At the far end of the office, an arm grabbed Saunders and pulled him into the black tunnel. Blood exploded as the edge of the blasting hex caught the side of Tom Riddle and darkness fell as three stunners hit Percy in the chest.

~*~

It was warm and soft when he woke. Fingers ran through his curls, the motion soft and soothing, almost like his mother.

Almost.

Percy pried his eyes open to find red ones staring down at him. They were cold and sharp despite the loving caress of the hand.

“If only you were truly mine, little Weasley. I would be so far in my plans with a snake like you leading my troops.”

“I’ve never been a snake, only a smart lion,” Percy’s voice was hoarse, his words slow and exacting in his tired state.

“Oh, if that were true you never would have made it this far,” Again, the hand tightened painfully in his hair, “But, we shall see how much of that Lion exists when I’m done with you.”

Agony.

~*~

He woke to hands everywhere. His first instinct was to struggle, but he pushed it down and went limp. It would be angrier if he resisted physically. It was already angry enough. Percy needed the energy to maintain the memory wall hiding his steel ball anyway.

Blurry faces and murmured words filled his senses. Hands prodded at the cuts around his eyes and the bloody streaks down his back and the broken ribs deforming his side. Then someone reached between his legs.

He screamed and thrashed.

“Sshh…Percy, it’s us. You’re okay. You’re okay,” The hands immediately pulled away. Gentle arms caught him around the shoulders as he bolted upright.

‘No, please…” his voice was hoarse and weak.

“We won’t, Percy. We won’t,” the voice was clearer this time, though the world was just as blurry, Percy reached up to push up his glasses before stopping halfway to his face.

“Oh…” his glasses were gone. When were they gone?”

“We’ve got you. No one’ll hurt you. We _got you_.”

A wave of unnatural calm swept over him. He could feel someone open his mouth. The acrid taste of a sleeping potion flowed down his throat.

He slept.

~*~

“How long?” Was Percy first question when he was cognizant.

“Since we grabbed you? Or how long he…uh?” the woman sitting with him was one of the refugees hiding in the Ministry walls. While Percy had passed her a few files over the last months, he’d never learned her name. He wasn’t sure if he even wanted to.

“Both, if you don’t mind.”

She looked behind Percy’s bed for a moment before answering, “He had you for a week, we got you back yesterday. You’ve been unconscious for twelve hours.”

It had felt so much longer, but Percy wasn’t surprised. He knew exactly how badly torture could warp time.

“And the war? What moves have we made?”

Again, she looked behind him. Her blurry face twisted with indecision and she mouthed an exaggerated, ‘No’ before turning back to Percy and saying quickly, “Things have been…quiet.”

“But,” the deep voice of Boris Filch said as he moved around Percy’s bed and into sight, “There are rumors of a move on Hogwarts soon.”

Percy forced himself to sit up, ignoring the complaints from both his body and the woman beside him, “How soon?”

“Tonight.”

Eyes sharp, Percy turned to the woman, “If you have any pain killers or healing potions, I would like them now, please.”

“You are in no—”

“Doreen,” Boris placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder, “He’s clearly going to get out of that bed whether you help him or not. Get him the potions.”

She huffed but stood and left the room, muttering under her breath.

Boris sat in the vacated chair and looked at Percy with piercing eyes, “And what do you plan to do in a fight with a collapsing ribcage, a bum leg, and no glasses?”

Plans and schemes and plots flew through his mind. Every contingency he and Albus had put together had merit to them, each containing bits of information he needed to make a working plan in the moment. But, even with Albus’s position as Headmaster and Percy’s head full of obscure facts, one brilliant plan never crossed their minds.

Instead, it had come one night while Percy was smothering under the tears of Carol from the file room as she lamented the loss of her wife. She’d been one in a string of ministry workers who’d sought him out over the last year. Something, be it his stubborn demeanor or quiet countenance, or another aspect of the Overwatch position, had brought them to him. Percy had found it suffocating. His mind had wandered far that night as he repeated reassurances he’s said dozens of times and would dozens more.

And in those quiet, cloying hours, inspiration had struck.

“I won’t need to move or see, if I do it right.”

Boris sat back, a stern glare crossing his face before a sly smile and satisfied look replaced it, “Nothing gets past you, does it?”

“Argus has loose lips when he’s drunk. From there, your records confirmed my suspicions.”

Shaking his head, Boris reached forward and, reaching into his pocket, brought out a newly repaired set of glasses. He offered them to Percy and said, “Let’s get you walking and then I’ll tell you exactly how stupid your brilliant plan is. And exactly why it may just work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:
> 
> This is the most explicit chapter, though, once again nothing is shown, just alluded to, except in one case that is listed below.
> 
> Voldemort delves into Percy mind. During this sequence, Percy thoughts as Fudge is raping him are seen. This is the most explicit I'll get. If you need to skip this specific bit of the story, it starts after, (this is your duty, the warmth said) and you can restart at, (I will help you, it hummed in his spine).
> 
> Torture is heavily implied throughout the chapter.
> 
> It's heavily alluded to that the torture also involved rape.
> 
> Voldemort in general.


	9. Mum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes fro warnings

_Mum,_

_There are so many things I want to say but_

_Dumbledore was just here. He needs a spy in the ministry, someone in the top levels and I’m in the perfect position. But it means I can’t come back, at least not yet. I can’t apologize to you or Dad or Ginny or anyone for how much of an arse I’ve been this last year. And Mum, I really want to come back. I miss your hugs and dinner at the Burrow and just, everything._

_I’m so sorry I was such a prick to you and Dad. Especially to you. You’ve been by biggest, best supporter my entire life and I repaid that by treating you horribly. I promise, if I survive this war, I promise to come back and apologize for everything. I will do whatever you want, whatever you need. I’m not asking for forgiveness or even to come back scot free. If you never want to see me again, I don’t blame you. I just want to make sure you live happily without any regrets._

_I’m so sorry I hurt you. I’m so sorry I made it worse, keep making it worse. You deserve a better son than me and I am so glad you have better sons than me._

_If you find this after the war, after I’ve gotten myself killed, please know that I love you so much. I love everyone, but I love you the most. No one could have a better mother because I have the best. I’m sorry we never got to reconcile, never got to meet without my anger and arrogance coming between us. Please, please know that I dearly wanted to._

_I miss you so much. I’m so sorry,_

_Percy_

_~*~_

Argus Filch was surprisingly easy to find in the chaos preceding the battle. While every able-bodied adult was strengthening the wards and clearing hallways and escorting children to the saferooms underneath Hogsmeade, Argus was sitting in his office talking to Mrs. Norris. The cat was sitting in his lap, fur coat soaked with tears as the man cried.

Percy was almost loath to interrupt. Almost.

“Excuse me, Caretaker Filch.”

Filch’s head shot up, his hand grabbing for the knife on his desk before he recognized Percy and sat back with a growled, “Get the fuck out, Weasley.”

“I’m sorry for the interruption, but I have a request.”

“What about ‘Get out’ do you not understand! Leave me be!” Filch spat, his agitation disrupting Mrs. Norris from his lap. The cat landed on the floor with her fur on end. She hissed and spat alongside her master.

“Unfortunately—”

“No!” Filch stood, grabbing the knife and pointing it at Percy, “I won’t be bothered anymore! You can all—”

“I need access to the keystone,” Percy ‘s voice was calm but stubborn, “I refuse to let her die without fighting back.”

Filch’s face, which had gone a bright, blazing red at the mention of the keystone slowly paled as the man took in Percy’s determination. Slapping the knife down on the desk, Filch shook his head for a moment before glaring at Percy.

“And what makes you think I’d give _you_ access?”

“Because the Ministry needs Wizarding England and Wizarding England needs Hogwarts.”

Again, that hum of quiet power rose in the back of Percy’s mind. A soft warmth spread down his spine and across his shoulders, curling around his neck and upper arms.

Filch stared intently at the magic wrapped around Percy before meeting his eyes again, “You have an Oath on you, boy.”

“One I took willingly to protect our society.”

“And you would risk your life, your _magic?_ ”

“Yes,” he said, without an ounce of hesitation.

With a deep sigh, Filch sat back down in his chair. Mrs. Norris immediately jumped back into his lap and began purring. He ran a hand along her back. Percy could almost see the thoughts whirling through his head, the pros and cons being measured physically with all the weight of the world behind them.

Finally, after a long minute, Filch wrapped his arms around Mrs. Norris and hiked her partially onto his shoulder as he stood.

“Alright, then. Follow me.”

~*~

Their trek was a pocket of silence in the clamor of preparations. Percy kept his head down as he limped behind Argus, hoping to avoid questions as much as his family. He didn’t have time to deal with frivolities like what he was doing or why he was here. If they survived, he’d gladly answer anything.

He was tired of secrets.

As they approached the Headmaster’s office, Argus slowed, walking beside Percy instead of leading him.

“How did you know about the keystone?”

“A little research and some fortunate meetings.”

Argus scoffed and looked away, “Met my brother, have you?”

“Yes, and he only had wonderful things to say about you.”

“I bet he did,” Argus’s face was set in an angry frown.

“Seriously,” Percy’s voice was forcefully nonchalant, “He said you had the best Mage sight of a Filch in four centuries, and that you had an almost instinctual grasp of the mechanics behind ward casting.”

“And yet, I can’t actually cast any,” Anger deepened on Argus’s face, “Thus why someone like _you_ has to access the keystone instead of me.”

Percy shook his head slightly, saddened but understanding, “There’s a reason you’re the sole caretaker of Hogwarts. Beyond how complicated she is, you have the smarts and the ability to manage her even without accessible magic. Boris sounded incredibly jealous while he was explaining, by the way.”

That caused Argus to huff a small laugh as they reached the Gargoyle, “Boris always struggled with the longer sequences. He kept dropping the secondary pathway in favor of the primary. Always forgets about the damn foundations.”

They shared small, teasing smiles before Argus turned to the statue and waved his hand. The Gargoyle bowed and stepped to the side, revealing the stairs. With a quick step, the two rode the staircase directly to the office. Argus placed a hand in the center of the door and waited for a moment. Squinting, Percy could see the faint glow of magic wrapping around Argus’s hand before the door clicked and swung open.

Curiosity must have shown on his face when Argus glanced back at him, “She knows who made her, even without me ‘knocking back’ so to speak.”

Percy hummed noncommittally before following the man inside.

The room was dark and austere, a stark contrast to Dumbledore’s inhabitance. There were a few papers on the desk and the shelves were full of neatly aligned leather tomes. The trinkets and magical devices that had cluttered every surface were gone, replaced with blank tables and empty shelves. Even the desk had lost some of its magnificence, the gilded sides covered by a dark table cloth. Obviously, Severus had covered all reminders of his friend and predecessor. Percy couldn’t imagine the pain and stress the office had caused the spy over the last year.

Mrs. Norris was placed on the desk before Argus started shifting the few pieces of furniture left in the middle of the room. Outside, lights flashed as Voldemort’s assault began. The visitor chairs before the desk were shoved aside, almost tipping with the force as Argus began to rush. Percy grabbed the small pensieve table from the middle of the room and set it against a cabinet, ignoring the pulse of pain in his ribcage at the strain.

“Grab this,” Argus said, grabbing one side of the giant rug that covered most of the office floor.

Together, they pulled the rug toward the door, letting the soft fabric fold and ruffle together in their hurry. Underneath, the floor was covered in deeply carved runes.

If Percy had the time, he would have marveled at the intricate sequences and the depth of levels holding the castle together. Instead, he limped to the center of the matrix at Argus’s direction.

“Are you sure you want to do this? Without the ward key…”

No ward key meant no preset connection to Hogwarts. No preset connection meant no aligned paths for Hogwarts’ magic to travel through. She could, and probably would, tear his magical pathways apart.

“Yes.”

“And I can’t anchor you,” Here, anger and despair flashed across Argus’s face again, though the sentiment was less self-demeaning than before.

No anchor meant Percy might not make it back to his body, might not keep his mind in one piece when exposed to a presence as massive and alien as Hogwarts.

“I must do this. _We_ must do this.”

“Alright,” Argus rubbed his hands together and sank down to his knees, pressing his hands into two runes just outside the main runic set just before the desk, “Spread your hands at your sides, palm down, and send out a pulse of magic.”

Percy took a deep breath and looked hard at Argus, “Thank you, Caretaker Filch, and you, Mrs. Norris. I’ll see you on the other side.”

Magic jumped from his hands, connecting to the stone beneath him in a blinding blue-white light and Percy’s vision expanded.

His spine _hummed._

~*~

From a place that was _other_ but also _home_ , They watched his body lift off the floor and begin to glow. Streaks of blue-white magic rose in his skin, Lichtenberg figures shining through his clothing and racing down his exposed forearms. The bright light covered his eyes and flowed from his open, silent mouth. Pain was distant, and They knew it was ripping Him apart, but They couldn’t care. The attacking magic was Their main concern.

A ripple and the wards were breached.

They sent out Their focus and _saw_.

\--A group of older students crowded around the bridge entrance, waiting for the right moment to set off their explosives. Warm pride ran through Him and They turned—

\--chunks of stone were falling, collateral from misaimed and deflected spells. A _bombarda_ flew through a crowd of fighters, catching one man in the side and sending him spiraling to into a wall. His blood painted the stone as he clawed at his side. Gasps of air were leaving him, and he was drowning in—

\--Children had snuck back. One of the newer tunnels, one They didn’t control, hadn’t _sensed_ in the way they knew themselves to be, had let them through. Hundreds of young children trying to fight a war they were never prepared for, should never experience but had lived. They wanted to Shut. It. Now. but the damage was done and now there was young blood on the stones and sinking in and there was _power_ there but—

He pulled them away, terror threading through Them at the hungry thoughts. Focus shifted, and They saw as Their defenders, Their children began to truly fall. But They would not sit by. He was the focus, They were the power. Together, almost as one true being, They _fought back._

Doors slammed shut, trapping death eaters long enough for floors to suddenly drop away. Children were herded into safer corridors, walls enclosing them away from the spell-fire.  The ground shifted underfoot, tripping people into and out of danger.

They focused, trying to see everything at once, but He was unused to Their immensity, the sheer amount of information They took in at every moment.

(A small, oh so small, piece of Their attention noticed the _bright, hot blood dripping and.he.hurtsomuchishe—_ )

A flash of orange-red drew Their attention, influence from Him pushing Them to search for His family in the chaos.

Charlie was back-to-back with Ginny in one of the outer courtyards, their brooms laying in pieces at their feet. While they had other defenders with them, they were separated by a wall of Death Eaters and a Giant. No matter their skill, they were being overwhelmed.

They felt the pain and rage flowing from Him, and They fought back.

A wall of stone and dirt and torn roots rose around His brother and sister, pulling up and over them into a protective dome. Outside, the Death Eaters yelled in confusion and the Giant stepped forward, club raised to smash through the protection. Instead, a pulse of brilliant, white light spread from the dome. It seared outwards a lightening speed, burning all in its path.

They smiled, vicious vengeance sharpening Their thoughts. They sought out more.

Faster and faster, Their focus swirled. Here, a man holding _crucio_ on a child was pulled into a wall, his wand torn from his grip as he suffocated. There, a werewolf found his feet trapped in stone while one of the suits of armor plunged a sword through their heart.

Again and again, They dealt a swift end to Their attackers.

Another orange-red and They watched as Fred fell, a wall collapsing toward him and He, _Percy_ , cried out.

Time is an odd concept for a building, especially one as old and aware as Hogwarts. From Their first waking moment, everyone moved so fast. One day They would be greeting her halls for the first time, and the next they would be leaving, never to be seen again. Some came back and stayed longer, for what felt like weeks, but they would inevitably leave again. Age wasn’t something They considered, the concept never quite making sense to a being that never feared the degradation of time. They were well cared for; thus, They would never fall apart, would never die in truth. And even if Hogwarts were to fall into ruin, become a pile of rubble instead of Their magnificent halls, They would never again be normal stone. Intelligence had changed Them forever. And that intelligence grew with every new mind They touched, be They the barely-there-and-gone students that cycled through Their halls or someone fully keyed into Their magic.

For the first time, They felt true terror and grief and a lack of time that had never made sense before.

The falling wall burst into dust, scattering around the bruised, beaten, but still living body of Fred Weasley.

On the other side of the wall, a condensed burst of blue-white magic tore through Augustus Rockwood, leaving naught but a burn mark behind.

More fighting, more destruction, more spell-fire, more deaths on both sides. They shifted and pulled and pushed as the battle became a bloodbath.

Then, the chaos came to a sudden and startling halt. In the chaos and terror and focus, They hadn’t noticed the voice ringing through Their halls until the death eaters started retreating.

He turned Their focus to the Great Hall, leaving the fleeing fighters to their master. Instead, They watched Their children as they scattered and came together. The room was a tide of moving bodies. Screams of despair, cries of hope and fear echoed out into the halls. Everywhere, there was movement.

And then, a sound, much closer than He had experienced in eons (or was it minutes?)

“Percy?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:
> 
> Non-graphic death of children
> 
> Experimental grammar
> 
> Hope?


	10. Harry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for warnings

_Harry,_

_There are many things I regret in my life. Leaving my family, choosing the ministry, hell, even accepting Headboy. But, if there was one thing I would change above all else, it would be how I’ve treated you._

_From the first day I met you, I could see the hunger in your eyes. You wanted family, what I had in spades and took for granted. You, who I thought had so much, wanted, no needed, what I had. What I could offer. And I never did._

_Those weeks when you first came to the Burrow were so bewildering. All I could see was a child, no savior or chosen one or boy-who-lived, just a boy. And yet, I was still so blind._

_~~I want to apologize for everything I ever said that~~ _

_~~I’m sorry for everything I~~ _

_Nothing I can write will ever encompass how sorry I am for the wrongs I’ve done against you, against my family. Because that’s exactly what you are. You’ve been a better brother to Ron and Ginny and George and Fred than I’ve ever been, even before I shoved my head firmly up my ass._

_If there is anything you need, anything I can do to help you, to make your life easier, both in the coming days or far in the future, let me know._

_I’ve never been a good big brother, but I want to try for all my little siblings, including you, Harry._

_Percy_

~*~

Harry was heaving deep, painful breaths, each lungful a stab of pain as he raced through the halls. Everyone was gathering in the Great Hall, but he couldn’t be there. He had to reach the Headmaster’s Pensieve. Snape had given him his memories, the last attempts of a desperate man to finally right a wrong. Ron and Hermione were far behind him, left in his dust as he raced as forward with all his might.

The stairs to the headmaster’s office were already revealed, their continual spinning halted by a chunk of rumble across the lower steps. He vaulted them, his foot catching the edge and sending him tumbling forward. He picked himself up and continued, adrenaline pushing him forward despite scraped palms and twisted ankle. He had little time to figure out what the hell Dumbledore wanted him to do.

Pushing through the door, Harry had expected many things. Maybe the office would look the same, Dumbledore’s trinkets and oddities scattered among towering bookshelves. Maybe Snape would have rid the office of everything, leaving it a blank, imposing symbol of power. Maybe there would be more of the jars from his office, the floating carcasses and other potions ingredients on display to terrify students. Nothing prepared him for what he found inside.

Instead of an empty room, Harry found Filch kneeling in front of a massive, glowing circle of runes while Percy Weasley floated in the center, suspended in a glow of white-blue magic.

“Percy?”

Filch’s head shot up, his eyes going wide as he spotted Harry. It was odd to see the dour man so energized and distraught.

“Why are—” Filch asked, his legs tensing to get up before he looked back at the circle and settled, “Leave, Mr. Potter. You need to leave.”

“What the hell is—”

“He’s doing what must be done. Now leave.”

“But—"

“Unless being here will kill that madman,” Filch said through clenched teeth, “you. Need. To. Leave.”

Harry stepped back at the intensity that flashed across Filch’s face, “I just—”

“The pensieve is right here, Harry.”

In unison, their head snapped to Percy. The magic flowing through him had dimmed as a sense of awareness awoke in Percy’s form. There was more shifting, a natural response to an unnatural position that had been absent when Harry entered the room. While Percy’s eyes still glowed an intense, blue-white, there was a sense that he was looking directly at Harry instead of past him. In all honesty, it was terrifying.

Floating between them was Dumbledore’s stone pensieve.

“Use it but be quick. There is little time left before he loses his patience,” the basin floated to one of the discarded tables, “And Harry?”

Harry stepped forward, ignoring the pensieve for the moment. Beads of sweat and trickles of blood marred Percy’s face. He could see the strain Hogwart’s magic was putting on Percy, the taunt muscles and trembling form. Harry desperately wanted to pull Percy from the magic, ask him what he could possibly be thinking opening himself up to _this._ But this wasn’t the time. So much hung on him watching Snape’s memories. He had to finish this fight.

“Yes, Percy?”

“I’m sorry.”

~*~

It wasn’t a new sense of pain, exactly. They had mourned before, but it had been a very long time since They felt it this deeply.

Harry had stepped out of their sight, crossing into the forest they once held. They had strained, watching for any sign of the boy returning. He knew what needed to happen, what Albus had told him all those months ago, but He found himself hoping they were wrong.

They watched, turned Their focus almost exclusively to the edge of Their sight. And They mourned and shook and wailed when Their beloved groundskeeper stumbled back with Their child in his arms.

Time continued, and They watched, felt the horror and grief and rage from Their children and guardians as the boy was presented and the monster gloated. And They watched as the boy breathed and shifted and stood and fought. They watched as chaos erupted and the spell-fire resumed and the snake spilled across the cobblestone and then—

Ash floated on the breeze, the final body of the monster who was once one of Their children, bright-eyed and full of hope and pride, dissolved into the earth. They grabbed the last bits of magic, the pieces that strove to remain in their terror of death and quenched them.

Their children moved and swelled, and the last attackers were killed and captured and repelled.

He felt relief sweep through him, the magic dimming as the full force of the night came to bear. They were everywhere and nowhere at once. They could see His body, but the connection was faint. He slipped and spilled and spread through Them and He couldn’t make it back.

Mrs. Norris leapt from the desk directly into the circle. Their dear Caretaker cried out, trying to reach her, but the connection was too strong. Gentle streams of magic caressed her, and They watched intently as she pushed through the air, turning nothing into solid steps so she could reach His body’s face.

Purring rang through His ears and soft, cloying fur filled His nose and mouth and eyes and he was bac—

~*~

If Percy had thought he’d experienced pain before, he’d been wrong. Nothing had ever hurt this much. Not Bellatrix’s knife or Voldemort’s attack on his mind or even—

“Percy!” Argus cried out, the magic finally freeing the other man from the circle. He ran forward, scooping up Mrs. Norris from where she’d landed at the edge when the ritual ended.

Percy opened his mouth, tried to reassure the man while he pushed himself up, but instead a steady stream of foamy, thick blood spilled forth and he began to choke.

Tears pricked at his eyes and his chest heaved as he fought to expel the liquid. He _couldn’t_ die here. Not now, when everything was over. He’d worked so hard, given everything to this war and he deserved to see what came next damn it!

Argus pulled him into a sitting position, helping Percy breath past the blood in his lungs. From the new vantage point, Percy could see the fading glow in his arms. Underneath, dark purple scars ran up his hands and under his rolled shirt sleeves. Each breath dropped spots of blood onto his trousers and shirt. It wasn’t stopping.

At some point, Argus had shifted around to cradle Percy against his chest. The ringing in Percy’s ears slowly died and he could hear the man whispering reassurances. Mrs. Norris had disappeared at some point, presumably going for help. But Percy wasn’t sure it would be soon enough.

“Car—Careta—Argus. I nee—eed you to—to tell my fam—fami—them how s—s—sorry I am. Ple—ease.”

‘You’ll tell them yourself, Weasley.”

“I don—I—Damn It!” Percy choked out a harsh cough, more blood splattering onto the stone around them.

“Mrs. Norris is getting help, don’t you worry. Everything will be fine, you just need to hold on.”

The tears Percy had been holding back finally spilled over, streaming down his face in a flood. The walls had finally shattered and he didn’t know what he had left.

“I do—don’t want t—to die. I don’t—t wa—" it became a litany as Percy sobbed into Argus’s chest, the other man’s shirt slowly dying red the more Percy coughed and choked and sobbed and grew quiet.

“You won’t, Percy. You won’t,” Argus replied, slowly rocking them back and forth as they waited for help to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:
> 
> Canon death and resurrection of Harry Potter.
> 
> Cat butt to the face.
> 
> Graphic blood description in the last section.


	11. Albus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to thank everybody who's made it this far. Thank you so much for reading! I'm really proud of this work. I've never felt comfortable diving into darker topics, though I've always found an interest in aftermath and following characters as they recovered their lives, so this was a struggle to both write and post. Thank you all so much for hanging around this long!
> 
> And as always, see end notes for warnings

_Albus,_

_Even six years on, I still have no idea how you did it all. It may just be a mystery I’ll never solve. Seriously though, how did you keep it up through everything without driving yourself to drink? I think I’ve spent more time in the Hog’s Head than my own bed at this point. Admittedly, most of my time there isn’t spent drinking (much to Aberforth’s disappointment, he knows I like the expensive stuff). I think I’ve pulled Argus out of the bottle so many times it makes my exposure to his drunken rambling when I was a student look like a cake walk. If only he’d get over his damn pride and talk to his brother, then I wouldn’t have to wade through the bar every damn night._

_I wish you were still here. You worked so hard to see a truly peaceful world and, at least for now, I think we have it. The last bastion of death eaters was rounded up last week, though most of them were just old men, afraid of change. They were clinging so hard to tradition that its surprising it took so long for us to find them. And I get it. Change is hard. I’ve had to relearn that so many times these last years. But I would never give up what I gained to go back to the easy ways, the ignorance._

_I know you knew about my excursions, even encouraged them now that I look back on everything, but did you know about the night I really met Remus, not just Professor Lupin? I’ve never told anyone, not even Remus, but I knew he was a werewolf before Snape told everyone. I was an idiot, drunk as hell after a string of shitty grades on assignments I spent too much time on and too angry to let Aberforth talk me down. Instead of heading to bed or wandering through the castle, I took a passage down to the village and wandered._

_Somewhere along the way, I got it in my head to check out the shrieking shack. I’d never visited it, you know? It seemed stupid, especially since I’d lived with a ghoul rattling pipes and giving me scares since I was a child. I knew what hauntings actually were and didn’t give a fuck about checking out a house that looked like it could fall over at any moment. That night, I was drunk and I was stupid and I was done, in a sense. The world felt like it was falling apart all because of one bad grade. I was so damn naive._

_And even worse, I was sure my life was over before it began so I just wanted to skip to the end and get it over with. What better place to kill myself than a house that was already haunted? I was sure I would get stuck as a ghost as some form of cosmic punishment for existing, for not being perfect, so at least I would have some companionship, even if it was a wayward ghoul._

_That night, I stumbled into the shack and right into a werewolf. And I just laughed. Fucking laughed because what better joke could the world throw at me? If I died, it would be horribly painful.  If I somehow lived, I would have even less opportunities than my shit grades would give me. So, I kept fucking laughing and dropped my wand and dropped the knife and dropped to the floor._

_I know now that Snape was brewing Wolfsbane, but back then it was incredible and terrifying when the damn werewolf just plopped down next to me and put his head in my lap. I spent the night cradling the head of a giant, deformed, sleeping wolf that would have killed me any other time. And in the morning, he changed back and I found myself sitting beside a sleeping Remus Lupin, one of the few adults who treated me like I mattered. So, I left and never mentioned it and now I live with the regret._

_Harry was reluctant, but he told me about the afterlife, how he met you and how the stone let him see his loved ones when he went to die, so I know there’s something beyond ghosts. I’m going to tell him when I get there. I refuse to lose any more chances, especially with my friends and family. They deserve better._

_I hope you can see what you worked so hard toward. Children are laughing again, Albus and I get to be a part of it. Ron and Hermione finally figured out they loved each other, so have Harry and Ginny. Fred and George are building their brand bigger each year, and they have plans to expand to the continent next month with a store in Paris. Hell, Bill and Fleur have two kids with a third one on the way, Ginny and Hermione are ready to pop out their own and even Fred and George have married their respective love with plans to expand the hoards. My family is growing so fast, it’s almost impossible to comprehend._

_And they truly are my family. I get to hug Mum again and she and Dad even let me foist money onto them with little complaint. The burrow is looking better than I’ve ever seen it and it’s so warm and full of laughter that it makes me feel like a little kid again when I think about it. Oh, how I wish you could see it, experience this victory._

_Still, I miss you Albus, and so does Aberforth, though he’ll never admit it, the ornery old sod. There’s so much I wish I could tell you in person. Harry is the only other person who knows what it’s like to hold the hands of an entire nation in their hands and I refuse to bring back unwanted memories for him after how much he’s suffered. I still see it every time he sees the scars on my arms or the limp when I walk. And I know he’s too stubborn to ever forgive himself if he knew just how badly the war still affects me. But, until I finish this adventure, I guess I’ll just have to wait. Hopefully, it’ll be a long while._

_Albus, thank you. You were a wonderful friend and mentor to me. I know it pained you to ask me to give up my family for just a bit longer, and there were so many days when I hated you for it, but I turned out better in the end._

_Now, I’m a teacher. I’ve taken over History at here at Hogwarts. With everything from the war and the peace we have now, I was able to pass the Oath on to Dennis Creevey of all people. He’s worked hard and, after a few alterations to avoid some of the more dangerous aspects I experienced, he’s doing wonders in keeping the ministry working for the people instead of the minister’s political agendas. He is quite the wonder to watch, at least for those of us in the know._

_I’ve never told Mum or Dad or anyone, really, about my position with the ministry or my work with the Order, but I think they know I did something vaguely important. Sometimes I catch them staring at me with sad looks that don’t just come from the scars or the limp. But I’ll never tell them. I don’t want to worry them more than they already are._

_In the end, I’m truly happy for the first time since childhood. I have everything I wished for and more. Thank you for helping me get here and I hope you’re experiencing peace to where ever your new adventures take you._

_Percy_

_P.S. Did you really only get an E.E. on your history OWL?_

_~*~_

“You done yet, Perce?” Fred said as he swung an arm across Percy shoulders. George joined in from the other side and the two started turning Percy away from the grave and the letter he had laid beside it.

“Come on, we want to see your classroom!” George crowed with excitement.

“It’s the same room we all had history in, you’ve seen it a thousand times,” Percy protested, a smile curving across his face as his brother’s slowly led him towards the castle.

“Yes, but we slept through every class, so it’ll be almost brand new!” George exclaimed.

“And,” Fred added, “We know you redecorated. McGonagall told us.”

Percy just huffed and rolled his eyes, “Of course I did. I plan on teaching more than Goblin Rebellions, you know.”

“Exactly! Thus, why we all want to see it.”

Waiting near the castle, Percy could see the rest of his family as they talked and laughed. Harry was wrapped around Ginny, her pregnant belly protected by their arms as the chatted with Ron and Charlie. Hermione and Fleur were talking with Molly, each of them laughing at random intervals as the older two gave Hermione more advice on what to expect in the coming weeks as her stomach grew. Bill and Arthur had corralled the children and were telling them about adventures from their school days.

Behind all of them, Percy could see the waves of magic the swirled and caressed Hogwarts. She gave off a sense of warmth that felt so close to the Burrow that Percy would always consider her home as well. He knew her in a way few ever had, and he knew that she was happy with the peace.

As they walked up to the castle, Percy smiled, wide and happy. This was all he ever wanted.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:
> 
> Suicide attempt talked about in the letter. While it's not horrendously graphic, it does get a little explicit.
> 
> A corny, hopeful ending.

**Author's Note:**

> Until I find a better alternative, come yell at me on [tumblr.](http://thepatchmatrix.tumblr.com/)


End file.
